Sins of the Father
by Valkyroir
Summary: Even the most exaulted of martyrs has panged with sin. Even the noblest son will one day be visited...


Title: Sins of the Father Chapter 1: Visited Author's note: The first chapter of 'sins of the father' has been redone. The plot of the tale will not be altered, merely the sequence in which it is told. It may be more difficult to follow in places, but I feel that overall it's more lyric, and generally enjoyable from back to front. If you want me to go back let me know. The odds are slim that that will be taken into consideration, but there's always a chance. Ghostly, but a chance nevertheless. Onward and upward.  
  
Time, they say, is the most vicious constant, racing onward mercilessly, indiscriminately sweeping aside the vigilant with the wary. But time is constant only to its own ends. It accelerates or stalls or staggers and bogs you down so that all you see is nevers and what could be fades to black. He didn't even hear the shots, though he could not have been more than four feet from the shooter, hapless as she was. In later days he would remember them as thunder, earthshaking, gut-wrenching. He would imagine that he had heard the impact, heard the flesh tear and each drop of blood splash down. But not now. His eyes were on her, and in her there was death. Kate's protests died on her lips. Knees folded more than buckled. Hand, clutching at the darkening rose as it bloomed below her breast, reddened and quaked. The girl's blanched face gaped, managing to retain the expression of startled amusement she had donned when she had first seen them. "No!" The word caught in his throat, aware of its own futility, scraping him. Too late. The damage done. The fault his. He was at her side in time to catch her crumbling body and cradle it against his chest. Quivering fingers sought her cheek, leaving a swatch of crimson that somehow terrified him more than the wound ever could have. "See there Mikey?" she whispered. He had never heard her voice so harsh. "First time I ever did like you asked, not killing her. Look what it gets me." "Katie.." "Steady on big brother. We all die." But not her. She was twenty two. Not yet. "Call for help." She had been standing behind him, a statue. Whether it was confusion that stayed her, or her own fear, he could not have said had he cared. But now she stirred, aware by his tone that he was now addressing her. "Vaughn.." "Now!" "I can't! We're radio silent." Kate, slack in his arms until then, went rigid. The very soul of her writhed in its panic. Vaughn clutched her more firmly to him, hoping in vain that he could somehow reassure her. He knew she had no fear of death. There was something else, a tremor that had seized his own heart as well. "Oh God," she rasped. "Oh God no. Mikey." "I know. Hush." The attempt to be soothing sounded feeble even to him. "Owen. I have to..." "Shhhhhh." He turned to face Sydney more fully, letting the weight of his emotion knock her back a pace. "We have to get her out. You broke protocol once for Dixon.." "Yeah in the middle of the woods." Exasperated, she gestured to the all-encompassing walls of the embassy that had become their prison, Kate's tomb. "Then we'll carry her." "That could kill her." "She's dead if she stays here. Katie?" She nodded. The risk was acceptable. "Where is he Kate? No no no Katie stay with me, stay stay stay. Where is he?" "Par..." She faltered, swallowed, coughed, cursed her weakness. "The park. Across the street."  
  
And he was moving. This girl, this strength, this insurmountable force in his life, was scooped up as easily as a child might be. She melted against him, the Kate he had known bled out on the marble. He was her rock now, finally behaving the way he always thought men in his position were meant to. Sydney positioned herself in front of him, the offending sidearm still in hand, and jogged ahead of him down the corridor. The gun looked alien with her, she being so unaccustomed to carrying such a thing. Fate, it would seem, was not without its humor. No distance had ever seemed farther to him than that which he would have to travel to get Kate from the embassy door to the opposite side of the park across the street. Thankfully, and predictably, Owen had caught sight of them immediately. Presumably he had been maintaining radio contact with Kate while she was inside, and would have been watching for her with anxious attention. A navy blue van, black as a dying heart in the moonlight, jerked to an abrupt halt before the trio. The rear door were thrown open, and thirteen-year-old Ryan leaned out, a confused jumble spewing from his mouth. From his place beyond the wheel a strained sounding Owen demanded explanation. Reaching out, Ryan drew Kate out of Vaughn's arms and into the back of the van. Owen would have peeled out the moment she hit the bed, but Vaughn was stubbornly unwilling to be left on the curb, and leaped in after her. Having nowhere else to go, Sydney followed suit. "Shot," Ryan mumbled. "What? Speak up lad!" "Shot! Katie's been shot." "God save us." "Hospital first!" Vaughn spat. But there was no need; Owen had already pressed the pedal to the floor. Only then did Vaughn take note of Owen's condition. Hunched over the wheel, Kate's twin, shuddered and wheezed with every breath. A ribbon of blood, serpentine, oozed from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. This had been Katie's great fear, and Vaughn's as well when he came to understand what the bullet wound would mean for both of them. If Kate was lost tonight, Owen would soon follow. Sitting across from Vaughn, with his sister's head in his lap, Ryan wept silently. 


End file.
